


The Eye of the Storm

by teapig



Series: The Terror one-shots [1]
Category: The Terror (2018 TV series)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 23:50:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14413134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teapig/pseuds/teapig
Summary: An unlikely turn of events sends the boys on their way home - but even then it's not as simple as it should be.





	The Eye of the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote this whilst half-hiding under my bed during a massive thunderstorm the other night – it’s mainly in line with an AU created by the infamous Terror discord chat, in which we have a quadruple wedding – however, it’s grown its own legs and gone for a walk without me, I guess!

On reflection, it was a miracle that they’d ever escaped the pack ice at all. That there could have been a lead to the South this early in the season, this far into the pack – scientifically speaking, it simply shouldn’t have been possible. But a lead there was, and they had taken the chance while the fluke lasted. “God wants us to live,” Fitzjames had said – and when Crozier, in his typically cynical way, had suggested that God had picked his surviours with his sly placement of the lead, Fitzjames’ concerned face had almost made him regret it.  
“God wants us to live, Francis. Both of us.” Fitzjames repeated, covering his new husband’s hand with his own. He knew how difficult, both logistically and psychologically, it would be for Crozier to make the call to surrender the Terror to the talons of ice that would eventually pull her under. The ship that had been his pride for so many years, his castle at his highest point, his refuge at his lowest, was now to be his final sacrifice to this expedition that he had never asked to be a part of. “What will old England have to say of me, eh? Couldn’t keep my commander or my ship safe-” Crozier paused, watching Fitzjames’ fingers tracing across his own, before shifting to lace them together. “-But none of that matters yet. We have to get as many of these men home as we can, James. They’ve got families, friends-"  
“Francis, there’ll be room for them on Erebus – we both know that the scurvy’s taken care of that by now, let alone… other parties.” There had been too many funerals out here on the ice for either of them to even begin to come to terms with – but now, it almost seemed to be a shrouded blessing that they wouldn’t have to pick and choose who they could save. 

The next morning, the ice all but came alive with movement – as supplies, belongings, lives that had been built up were transferred one last time to the Erebus, Fitzjames had a party stretching along the extent of the lead, laying charges to extend their escape route through the ice. With the extra coal from Terror, the stokers revived Erebus’ and to begin their steady retreat. The progress made at first was barely noticeable visible from the ice – but from the stern windows of the Terror, the growing distance was all too clear. Crozier tried not to watch the first plumes of smoke rising, almost mocking him as he laid down those final, fateful words: “Captain gave order to abandon ship.” That it should come to this – six brief, formulaic words to conclude these months of bewildering suffering – a time so absurd in its nature that it beggared belief. They were followed by all those odd little last moments that he had once hoped he would have the time to fondly linger on – the last slam of his cabin door; the distinct scent of wood that had been replaced and repaired so frequently during the remarkable lifespan of this plucky little ship; the grain of the walls beneath his fingers, banister rope at his palms, deck under his feet. This ship had been his lifeblood for years – and abandoning her was as unnatural to him as leaving, say, a friend, a colleague, a nurturer behind. Waiting quietly at the end of the gangway, solemn in his greatcoat, stood Fitzjames – impossibly patient as Crozier laid silent farewells at each of his old haunts on the deck, silent in the knowledge that this could have easily been either of them. The bridge, the stern, the very peak of the bow – these last glimpses of these now-familiar, yet still troubling views north felt all but inadequate now, despite the fact that they would haunt him once he returned home. At least that much was certain for his future.  
And then he was off – striding down the deck for the very last time, trying to find the strength that it had so often given to him one last time.  
There, at the end of the gangway, stood his hope, his future, his stability in a world that was falling away without him. “Ready?” asked the oddly-gruff voice, extending a steadying hand as he began the final descent to the ice. Crozier couldn’t find the right words to answer – instead, he reached out, taking that hand firmly in his own. Once they were safely off the ice, and back on a mobile ship, orders were given, courses checked, plans laid; plans to sail hard, as fast and far towards safety as they possibly could.

The first days in open water were sheer bliss to Crozier. The open sea had always been kind to him – especially under the weight of opposition that came with being an Irishman in command, and he appreciated it even more now, having finally been freed from the crushing sensation of the ice. Fitzjames had never witnessed Crozier in his element – his only experience of him as a sailor had been as a second to Sir John’s command, and neither of them had been able to flourish under that kind of control. It was easy, now, for them to believe that the worst was behind them – that the journey ahead would be as simple as breathing after what they had come through. It was so easy for Fitzjames to stand back and watch his husband roll cherrily across the deck, learning all the tricks that the Erebus had to throw at him, the clouds of weariness that had come to define him over the last few months clearing away to show the softer, warmer side that Fitzjames had come to know and love. The fond grin that he received upon being spotted was worth the inevitable ribbing that would surely follow. As the bridge’s railing dipped under the weight of another resting on it, their shoulders pressed together; it was almost habit now, after so long in the cold.  
“You look like you’re having fun people-watching, James.” Came the conversational Irish tones. “Anyone would think you have a thing for your captain.”  
“Well, he should try to look less handsome when he’s ruling the waves. It really is rather distracting.”  
Crozier had to laugh at that. “That’s a fine thing for you to say, James! You should see yourself, posing up here in your greatcoat – and looking ravishing in the process.” A wry smile softened his face as he took Fitzjames’ hand, raising it to press his lips to his knuckles. A comfortable silence intervened, followed by the ghost of concern crossing Crozier’s brow.  
“Is everything alright, love?” Fitzjames asked, leaning into his lover’s warmth.  
“I’m not liking the look of that dark patch over there,” he replied, gesturing to a point on the horizon. “I’m hoping it’ll miss us, but I wouldn’t like to be caught in it if we can avoid it.”  
“You’ve got us through so much, Francis – I’m sure it’ll show a calmer face as we get closer, and there’s no doubt that you’ll get us safely through whatever it turns out to be.” The utter trust in Fitzjames’ eyes hit home for Crozier; whatever doubts he held for himself, the strength that that look gave him would carry him through the rest of the day.  
The storm hit them at the end of the last dog watch – as it loomed closer and closer, Crozier became noticeably more jittery, bringing in every preparation he knew to make the process of weathering it as smooth as it could be. The excess of men aboard weighed heavily on his mind – not only did it put the ship at greater risk with a heavier cargo, but it also meant that there would be little to no way for every man to escape should the worst come to pass. James wished he could tell him that he was worrying about nothing – but he’d known him long enough by now to know that his instincts held true when it came to the world beyond their control. As the first raindrops spat their way onto the deck, Fitzjames was setting his husband’s hastily-donned anorak to rights, hands skating over his shoulders in a desperate attempt to ease the tension there. Crozier caught one hand with his, holding it close on his shoulder, soaking up its warmth. Their eyes met, conveying far more than any hastily found words could – one seeking reassurance, the other recognising his burden, and offering to share its weight. For a moment, the world went quiet – and then, just as suddenly, it plunged into chaos.

Afterwards, men would comment on how well the two captains worked as a team – even as the wind howled around them, making even their loudest orders inaudible to each other, they moved in synchronisation across the deck. Under a rapidly darkening sky, there was no time to pause and look for each other – for it was soon all but impossible to see the vast majority of the deck, leaving them to keep to what they knew best. There was no time for rank to dictate action now – thus, it was common for a rope flying loose to be secured by a collection of both men and officers, all heaving together as salt, rain, and wind battered them from all sides. The pitch blackness that the cloud had prematurely brought in might have made this impossible for most – yet whilst their eyes were adapting to the dark, the sheer impulse of muscle memory carried them forward. When the lightning struck, however, there was no such choice. The first bolt lit all their faces in a stark, skull-like contrast of lights and shadows; amongst the various cursings of shaken men, Crozier’s silent gaze remained transfixed on the sky, his eyes slowly widening before he snapped back into action.  
“Get away from the mainmast!” he bellowed, voice hoarse with urgency, much as it had been when the carnival fell apart before his eyes. Seconds later, the sky was alight with jagged lines of blinding white, which seemed to flood down from the heavens before striking the very core of the mainmast. For a moment, it looked as if the whole apparatus would go up in flames – then, with a sickening crunch, the mast crumpled in upon itself, dragging the topmasts of both the fore and mizzen masts down with it. The tangled wreck of spark-ridden wood and rope hung precariously above the deck, swinging over the heads of the men below, before lurching downwards, over the ship’s edge, and dragging in the swollen seas. The flurry of orders that came next all blurred together in Crozier’s ears – years of naval drilling had prepared him for this, and yet he’d never dreamed that he’d have to go through with it, especially not after the voyage they’d suffered so far.  
There was nothing much that they could do until the storm calmed now beyond battening down, checking the security of their anchorage, and praying hard. This much Crozier briefed the lieutenants in, as he made his orders for the time being. “That’s as much as I can tell you for certain, gentlemen – the rest depends on whether we’ve seen the worst of this storm, as I sincerely hope we have, and how much of the rigging can be salvaged for repairs once the storm lifts. For now, however, keep a keen watch whilst Captain Fitzjames and myself take a look at revising our plans for our route home.”

Crozier’s stride towards his cabin betrayed nothing but a calm resolve to get through yet another impossible situation – however, the second the cabin door shut, it became clear that this was far from the truth. Hands tearing at his hair, he lurched across the floor, all but matching the groan of the boards beneath his feet. “Oh Christ, James – what on earth do we do now?!” The frantic, helpless look in his eyes caught Fitzjames off-guard, and rendered him unnaturally silent. “Maybe we could have limped home with this if we hadn’t so many men aboard, or if it had been only one mast, but as it is?” Crozier continued to pace erratically across the cabin, his flow of speech so constant that Fitzjames struggled to catch his attention. “I should’ve brought us about while we had the time, avoided any chance of us coming into contact with this beast... Damn it all, this is the sea, it’s all I’m supposedly good at, what I know, what I was made for – and now we’re here!”  
“Francis, you can’t possibly have known this would have happene-” Fitzjames tried to interrupt, but he was quickly cut off once more by the cracked voice of his husband.  
“What if we lose men after all, James? After I promised them that they would finally be safe, that we were away from all the unfamiliar things that seemed so dangerous – I can’t lose them now!”  
“Francis, pleas- “  
“And you – God, I can’t lose you now. I know you, and if we have to abandon again, you’ll pull one of your heroic stunts and get yourself hurt… and normally I love you for it, I truly do – but this is all my fault, and I’ve put you in danger and Christ-” Crozier was brought to a sharp halt by Fitzjames catching hold of his arm in a firm grasp, before moving to hold his gaze completely.  
“Oh God, Francis,” he sighed, as Crozier’s chest heaved between them, “please don’t do this to yourself. Not again.” His hand slid up to cup Crozier’s face, hoping to ease the panic held there before he continued to speak. “What’s happened here tonight is going to make things one hell of a lot more difficult now, it’s true, but none of this, or what happens next, is ever, ever going to be your fault. We’re not so far from civilisation now – we’ll find a way round this somehow, even if it does take us slightly longer…”  
“Do you really believe that, James?”  
“For once, yes. Yes, I genuinely do mean it, because I truly believe that you can do this, just as you’ve done so many times for this expedition. And-” Fitzjames paused, breaking his gaze from Crozier’s as he clenched his jaw. “And if the worst does come for us, Francis, I swear to God – if we’re going down now, we’ll go down together. I simply can’t let go of you, I can’t lose you – not now, not after everything we’ve had to go through to find this happiness. I’m not going to leave you to face this alone, Francis, because God damn it all, for better or worse, I love you.”  
At this, he pulled Crozier closer, dying to hold the man who had come to mean so much to him. With his husband’s head now lying on his chest, Fitzjames pressed teary kisses of his own into Crozier’s hair, peppered with murmured “I love you”’s, as if repeating it would somehow enfold him in safety, if only from himself. 

In that moment, the sea could have swallowed them whole before they noticed – they were so wrapped up in their own world. Before long, Fitzjames would peel the still-sodden anorak away, gently towel-drying his now-shivering husband, before carrying him to their small, shared bunk. Whispering gentle assurances, he would make sure he was warm enough before ducking out once more into the storm to see if things had eased at all, before returning to set Crozier’s mind at rest for the time being. Then, once he’s also dried off, he’ll join his husband under the blankets, their map on a board resting on his lap as they plan for what is to come from a place of safety rather than fear; with a sense of possibility instead of hopelessness. The storm would pass, and a way out would be found once more – but for now, they took the chance to hold one another in the darkness, safe from the future suffering of their difficult journey home, and their impending return, a fear of which lurked deep at the back of their minds. Profound safety might be an odd feeling to be found at the heart of the deadliest storm, but it was here, in the face of yet more loss and destruction, in a moment of deep vulnerability, that they had come face to face with it.


End file.
